


what dreams forget the whiskey remembers

by notthebigspoon



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 01:04:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tim's divorce is finalized, he goes out and proceeds to get blindingly drunk. He then ends up halfway across the Golden Gate Bridge, leaning against the railing and staring at the water.</p><p>Title taken from Creepin' by Eric Church.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what dreams forget the whiskey remembers

When Tim's divorce is finalized, he goes out and proceeds to get blindingly drunk. He then ends up halfway across the Golden Gate Bridge, leaning against the railing and staring at the water. He has to assure more than one person that no, he doesn't have any intention of jumping. He doesn't want to kill himself. Nowhere even close. He just wants to be miserable and a little melodramatic. It's getting later and it's getting colder. He takes Nate's ring off and hurls it off of the bridge, screaming into the night. He doesn't hear it splash, doesn't hear a sound except his own voice echoing, the traffic behind him on the bridge.

He feels a hand on his back and an elderly man asks him if he's okay. Tim nods and wipes his face, whispers hoarsely that he's fine before shoving his hands into the pocket on his hoodie and starts trudging back down the bridge. The night air is blowing straight into his bones and he goes back to the bar he'd started out in. He takes a few shots before realizing that getting drunk again isn't going to help him. It won't take away their problems and it won't bring Nate back to him. Not that he's even sure he wants Nate back, no matter how much he loved him.

He takes his phone out of his pocket, hand shaking as he struggles to dial someone. He doesn't even know who he calls until Belt answers the phone, sounding confused, “Hello?”

“Belt? I um. Hi.” He says slowly, but he's too drunk to care that he sounds a little not that bright. “Look, I need a ride. I'm more than a little hammered right now and taxis scare me after we won.”

“Where are you at?”

“No fucking idea. I'll GPS it on my phone and text it to you.”

“Be there are soon as I can.”

Tim manages to do as he'd told Belt he would, uses his phone to figure out where he is and send it to Belt before resting his chin on his arms and staring at the back of the bar. He doesn't move again until he hears Belt saying his name. He looks over his shoulder and smiles blearily at the younger man. He doesn't object when Belt helps him stand or helps keep him steady. He knows he can't really walk and function right now.

Belt leads him out to a large truck, helps boost him into the passenger seat before moving to the drivers side. He watches Tim struggle with the seat belt before leaning over to help him fasten it. Tim just smiles blindly and pats his arm before slouching back in his seat, rubbing his eyes. He's so tired. And tired of being tired. He shouldn't be this depressed about the divorce. Both of them knew that it was coming. They haven't even lived together in over a year. They're not even on bad terms.

A small part of him, the part that had said 'til death to us part' had been hanging on, he guesses, hoping that maybe his heart would change his brain's mind. He tells Belt this, voice raspy from the screaming and the whiskey. When Belt coughs and clears his throat, Tim looks at him.

“So... you two. You and Schierholtz. I didn't know. How did I not know?”

“We kept it away from the park. Kept our personal life separate from the show. To make things easier.”

“What happened?”

“By the time you got called up, we were already having problems. We just... we make really good friends. And initially we made good husbands, good lovers. But we just slowly figured out that we were happier as friends.” Tim answers softly. “We still are. But. I don't know, when I got the papers from my lawyer today, it felt more real. I still have a friend but I don't have a husband. I hadn't really had a husband in over a year but it just really hit me hard.”

“So what'd you do?”

“Got hammered and threw my ring off the Golden Gate Bridge.”

Belt snorts and promptly presses a hand to his face, glancing at Tim but there's no hiding the grin and the tears in his eyes. “I... really? You really went out and did that?”

“Well first I was just going to get hammered. But I was close to the bridge and it seemed like a good idea.” Tim laughs. When the truck stops, he frowns at the building he doesn't recognize. “Where are we?”

“My place. I don't think you should be alone tonight. I've got beer and I was eating a pizza when you called. And there's a metric ton of ice cream in the freezer if you're into that sort of thing.”

Tim is into that sort of thing. He follows Belt inside and into the elevator on shaking legs, clinging to Belt to keep himself steady. He doesn't let go until he's inside Belt's apartment, collapsing onto the couch. He kicks off his shoes and socks, tosses them aside and digs his toes into the carpet. He takes a beer and a slice of pizza. He abandons it after a single slice and ends up slouched over on Belt. Belt's arm closes around his shoulders and Tim knows that it's a friendly gesture, nothing more or less, but he finds himself feeling otherwise.

When he kisses Belt, the kid jolts, starts to object but Tim shakes his head, climbing into Belt's lap and wrapping his arms around the younger man's shoulders. It doesn't take out, a few more kisses, a few more rolls of Tim's hips, a few more touches before he feels Belt's willpower crumbling and he goes with it. He picks Tim up, carries him down the hallway and throws him onto the bed. For someone so shy and awkward at times, he's definitely not shy and awkward in the bedroom.

He fucks Tim hard, rough, like he's trying to drive all memories of Nate out of Tim's head. And he does, it's working, by the time he comes he can barely remember his own name. All he knows is Belt and how fucking fantastic the kid makes him feel. His body is aching and he feels so so used. He'll probably feel like shit in the morning but for now he's happy. He thinks maybe he should thank Belt, should say something, anything. Instead he falls asleep.


End file.
